


Snoring Through Space

by The_Magic_Tuba_Pixie



Category: Gundam & Related Fandoms, Gundam Unicorn
Genre: Cuddling, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2823935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Magic_Tuba_Pixie/pseuds/The_Magic_Tuba_Pixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a silly, cute doodle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snoring Through Space

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone who has ever cuddled with someone else who snores: this one is for you.

                The stars in the distance traced their way idly across the porthole as the station turned in the everlasting night that is space.  Angelo Sauper lay still, watching the pinpricks of light drift.  He could feel the weight of an arm thrown almost haphazardly across his side.  He gripped the hand and felt a sleepy return.

                He also wished he could say that there was a peaceful and metered breathing on the nape of his neck (in his internal dialogue, of course) but the slow crescendo of a small chainsaw stopping and starting drowned out any peace to be heard.  Angelo rolled his eyes a little and shifted his weight beneath the covers.  The chainsaw calmed, perhaps sated, then came back regularly with even more fervor.  Right at the apex of the loudest roar, a snort cut the breath short and the arm twitched.  Full Frontal took the deep breath of someone awaking momentarily from sleep, then pulled on his arm.

Angelo let go as he rolled onto his back, looking across the darkness at Full Frontal, whose eyes were still closed.  A thick, blonde-crested hand sleepily bumped into its owner’s face and found its way underneath the blanket of gold hair. 

God, Angelo hated and loved the mane in equal parts.  It gave Full Frontal an incredible presence and was quite the sight to behold when it came billowing out of his helmet, but it also had a mind of its own when given enough time and space to roam free.  Angelo quietly pulled a flaxen hair out of his mouth as Frontal rolled onto his back, as well, adjusting his hair beneath him.

                A small groan escaped from the exposed neck and Frontal continued to rub his eyes.  “’time izzit.”

                Angelo glanced over at the clock nearby.  “Almost 0300.”

                Another groan.  Frontal’s hand had traveled its way down his face and was now scratching at his square jaw.  Angelo could hear the “sccrtch, sccrtch” as manicured fingernails raked across blonde stubble.  It made him sad that it would probably be gone in the morning, whisked away by the unflinching draw of a razor, but that was military policy nowadays.  Truly tragic.

                The arm flopped down again as Full Frontal probably fell back asleep.  Angelo shifted onto his other side and wormed his arm beneath the pillows, trying hard not to pull on any stray hairs that had found their way beneath.  Having successfully completed that operation (with only a few silky hairs yanked in the process) Angelo carefully placed his hand in the center of Frontal’s chest, where the short golden hairs were thickest.  He pulled on them idly and grinned a little to himself.  He would have peacefully fallen asleep like that, as well, had the chainsaw not begun its crescendo again.

                “Oh, no you don’t,” the Newtype muttered and yanked on the fistful of chest hair.

                “Ow.”  The blonde man pawed at the culprit and Angelo moved his hand.  “You’re a poop.”

                “Then stop snoring.”

                “Fine,” the captain rolled away from Angelo, assuming little spoon position.

                Angelo always forgot just how broad Full Frontal’s shoulders were until he had to reach around them.  He let go of his bouquet of flax and followed the hairs down to the navel and abdominal area.  In this position, he could tickle, poke, or, in extreme cases, punch his way to silence should the snoring return.

                And it did, eventually.  But it had accompaniment by means of a slightly smaller (and prissier) chainsaw.  They created a beautiful, moving symphony that left everyone involved with sandpaper in the back of their throats the next morning.


End file.
